A Little Mischief
by Jedi Alice
Summary: Majesty Lokison, demigod daughter of Loki and minor chaos spirit. What happens when she's recruited by Nick Fury and has to fight the dad that raised her to enjoy chaos and Mischief?
1. Chapter 1

**A Little Mischief:**  
 **The story of Majesty Lokidóttir**  
 **Chapter 1: "Chin up, Loki."**

 **Everyone in Asgard** thought it was impossible for the God of Mischief to truly care about anyone but himself. Hel, even Loki believed this. That is, until _she_ came along. It was 1994, a dark time for the trickster. A very costly scheme of his had failed spectacularly, and he'd been kicked out of his home by his usually very loyal wife, Sigyn. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, his magic stripped away by Odin, he was stuck on Midgard. Specifically, in a crowded, rather hostile city known as Manhattan. While the bright lights were dazzling, the people were very rude, and before the former God of Lies even knew what happened, he found himself poor, starving, homeless, and growing ill. Worst of all, winter was setting in. He knew if he couldn't find a way to supply himself with food, shelter, and sufficient heat, he'd soon die. _Oh, if only I had my powers right now!_ he wailed in his thoughts. _I'd conjure up a grand castle to live in, enough food to feed a thousand men, women, and children, and a wonderful, hot bath. Not to mention a soft bed in a warm room with a fire crackling in the fireplace. That'd be very nice right now._

But alas, he was still without his powers, and could do little more than steal a hotdog from one of the vendors, curl up in a cardboard box, and sit near a trashcan-fire to try to warm his bones. He went on like this for a few more days, until the pain of constant hunger, cold, and illness made it almost impossible to move. Then, one cold day in December, two days until Christmas, he collapsed. The last thing he heard was a young lady's voice calling urgently to him: _"Sir? Sir?! Are you alright?! Someone call 911! Sir, hold on, please; help is on the way!"_

Through the crust forming between his eyelids, he saw the girl. She couldn't have been more than 19 - the age he'd made himself look before he was banished - and had long, beautiful black hair tied in a ponytail. Her skin was fair, and her eyes were like sapphires. She was bundled against the cold, but still looked pretty. _"Thank you..."_ he whispered, before he lost consciousness all together.

When he awoke, he was lying on a soft bed, wrapped in warm blankets. He still felt weak and sick, but he didn't feel as bad as he had before. He ran a hand through his hair, and was surprised that it was soft and silky again, completely clean! He then noticed the grime had been scrubbed from his hands - his entire body, in fact! - and he no longer reeked of poverty and poor hygiene. Looking around, he found himself in a small bedroom, with a clean set of clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The room was decorated in the Christmas spirit - either the owner of the room hadn't taken down the décor or he hadn't missed the holiday yet. Sitting up, he was surprised to see that he was no longer scrawny to the point where he could see his ribs against his skin. He got dressed, putting on the green sweater with gold trim, the blue jeans, the woolen socks, and the sneakers. He managed to stand, and made his way to the intoxicating scent of meat cooking. He took in the state of the house/apartment wherever he was, and saw that a Christmas tree sat proudly in one corner, a present sitting underneath it.

 _Just one?_ he wondered. Curious to a fault, he approached, and to his great surprise, he found the tag said "To: Loki, from: Twyla. Merry Christmas, God of Mischief!"

 _How did she know who I am?!_ he wondered, quite shocked. He wanted to rip it open and see what the mortal had gotten him... but he supposed after such hospitality, it would be quite rude to open it without her to see his reaction. Setting it down, he made his way to the kitchen, and saw a young woman with long black hair pulling a roasted turkey out of the oven. It looked perfect, and smelled divine, as well.

The girl looked over her shoulder, smiling when she saw him. "Ah, perfect timing!" she said. "Merry Christmas, Loki!"

The God of Mischief stared at her in amazement. "You're that girl who called for help that day," he said, seeing she had the same hair, eyes, face, and voice. "I assume you are Twyla?"

"Yep, Twyla Sinclair, owner of this penthouse, and one of the few mortals able to recognize a god in her midst without said immortal having to demonstrate their powers," she said. "If you'll take a seat at the dinner table, I'll have this finished up in just a couple seconds."

Loki was surprised to say the least, but hid it well. "Thank you." he said simply as he made his way to the dining room. This was more than odd to him. He was more than used to mortals running in fear from him, or cowering in fear at the sight of him, not reacting so warmly, welcoming him with a gentle smile and friendly worlds. Was there something wrong with this girl's head? She had smiled at the God of Lies and promised him a home-cooked Christmas dinner that she'd been preparing with her own two hands as easily as if she'd done so to a close friend or family member.

Well, it was different, but it was nice, in a way.

Moments later, Twyla came into the dining room with the beautiful bird, and the scent made Loki's mouth water. Without bothering to say any kind of Grace, she carved up the turkey with the precision of a surgeon, and served him six thick slices and the left drumstick, along with mashed potatoes and turkey gravy, and crescent rolls. "So, I didn't miss the holiday?" he asked at last, seeing her good mood as he began to eat.

"Thankfully, no," the girl said, preparing her own plate. "It's still Christmas for about six more hours. you woke up just in time for dinner. I was afraid I'd have to feed you through a tube again."

He was glad he'd woken up, then. The turkey tasted like it had been prepared as a sacrifice to the gods (in a way, it had!), and the rest of the dinner was heavenly, as well. "Might I ask why you decided to take in a god reputed for telling lies and causing mischief?" he asked, cutting to the point.

"Because," the girl said, taking a bite out of her drumstick and swallowing before finishing her answer. "Unlike most New Yorkers, I'm not a total jerk. I saw fit to help you because when I saw you lying there, filthy, sickly, and weak with hunger, I did not see the mighty Loki who made pranking an art and caused much suffering. I saw a man stripped of everything that had made him great and left to die. Call me crazy, but I didn't want you to die."

Loki could only stare in awe at this honest young girl. "Why?" was all he could ask.

"Because of all the gods, you're my favorite," she said. "You've got more brains in that head of yours than all of Asgard put together, your pranks always make me laugh, and even when things are looking bad for you, you manage to weasel your way out of it. So... I guess that leads me to my question. How'd you go from that... to just barely alive?"

And what happened then? Well, in New York, they say, that Loki finally told the truth on that day. (Sorry, I just had to do that!) He told her about the scheme he'd come up with, how he'd been thwarted, and how Odin had punished him by stripping him of his powers, and his wife had kicked him out. "No one would take in the God of Lies," he said sadly. "Thus, I was forced to become... what you saw."

Twyla squeezed his hand to lend him some small measure of comfort, and the trickster found himself curling his fingers around her much smaller, very delicate hand. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need, Loki," she said, looking into his eyes. "Just do one thing for me."

"And what's that?" the former god asked.

"Keep your chin up. A lack of confidence doesn't befit the God of Mischief," she said, giving him that warm smile. He could not help smiling back. In Twyla Sinclair, he'd found an ally. Perhaps even his first real friend.

As time went by, Loki and Twyla grew quite close, going from allies to friends, and eventually becoming boyfriend and girlfriend. Then, on the Fourth of July of the next year, Loki found out that he'd been accepted back into Asgard. He celebrated the good news with the girl, before bidding her "see you later" the next morning. Then Twyla missed her period. When Loki heard his dearest friend was carrying his unborn child, he was delighted, and swore that, to repay Twyla for the kindness, friendship, and love she'd shown him, he'd do everything he could to help care for his child.

* * *

 **A/N: What? You don't think the God of Mischief would give a damn about his unborn demigod child? Well, I do! See, I'm not casting him as the antagonist in this. I'm not sure who I am yet. We'll get to that later. Right now, Loki's a protagonist. Next, we'll see what Odin has to say an=bout him siring a child while in exile.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: "I Declare You an Idiot."

"Loki, did you learn nothing while in exile?" Odin asked, frowning at the now somewhat confused God of Mischief. They were in the throne room, where from the All-Father sat, he had a view of all the realms and their goings on. And he had watched Loki as he'd grown close to the mortal woman, Twyla. While he agreed the girl was kind and beautiful, a god could only marry an immortal. A human such as her would eventually die of illness, violence, or old age, and they lived such short lives in comparison to the gods.

"Yes, I did, Father," Loki said, trying to convince Odin this was a good thing. "I learned that even when things look bleakest, there will always be at least one person willing to lend some kind aid. Twyla was that person. And no, I didn't sire a child with her for my own gain. I had her consent, we just didn't use protection! It was completely unplanned, but I intend to do all that I can to care for my child and the woman who carries it."

"I can tell you right now, this will not end well for anyone," Odin said. "If your child turns out anything like you, Loki, so help me, I will chain you to a rock an let the serpent drool poison on your face!"

"Relax, you'll give yourself a stroke," Loki said with a chuckle. "Even if he or she has my powers, they'll be nowhere near as strong, therefore, they won't be much of a threat."

"What's this I hear, brother?" a deep, masculine voice asked as Thor, the mighty God of Thunder, entered. Bowing respectfully to his father, he turned to clap his brother on the back. "Now, what's this I hear about you siring a child? Have you and Sigyn rekindled some of the old magic since your exile?"

"Um, actually, brother-"

"He's sired a child with a mortal woman," Odin explained. "One who could potentially threaten the peace of the nine realms."

Thor stared at Loki, before saying, "Loki, I declare you an idiot." Centuries ago, Thor would have laughed and congratulated the God of Lies. That was, if he hadn't witnessed how Loki's last demigod sons, Joseph Stalin and Mussolini, had turned out. He shuddered just thinking about it. "Do you not remember how Midgard fared the last time your kin walked their lands? World War Two nearly ripped Midgard in half, and now you've unleashed another of your spawn on them? Have you learned nothing?"

"Oh, please, the baby isn't even born yet," Loki said. "And while I will provide for my child, I won't be around them enough to influence them, alright? I'm trying to take precautions, here!"

Odin sighed wearily. "This cannot end well," he said. "Go, now, before I tell Sigyn you've been faithless again."

With a cowardly squeak, Loki fled, leaving Thor and Odin alone. "Thor, if the child of the God of Lies turns out to be anything like its father, it will not bode well for the nine realms," he said gravely.

"I know, Father," Thor said. "And when the necessary time comes, I'll act accordingly."

Nine months passed in the blink of an eye, and one day, while Loki was chatting with his wife in Asgard, he sensed Twyla was in pain, that the little life inside her was ready to be born. He made up some random excuse, then fled to Midgard, finding his lover already in the hospital. After a few tense hours, Twyla gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with silky black hair, emerald green eyes, and laughing eyes. "She's beautiful," Loki said happily.

"What should we name her?" Twyla asked.  
"Majesty Lokidóttir Sinclair, the most adorable Trickster Midgard has ever seen." Loki decided. "And all shall tremble before her in awe, adoration, and terror!"

"A little ominous at the end, don't you think?" Twyla asked, quirking an eyebrow. "She's not yet ten minutes old, and you're predicting that our daughter will bring both joy and terror."

"Well, she _is_ the daughter of a chaos god, after all," Loki rationalized. "Did you expect anything less?"

"I wasn't expecting to fall in love with the God of Mischief in the first place, but that certainly didn't stop it from happening, now did it?" Twyla said with a sigh. "But I'm glad I did. You've been the best boyfriend a human could ever ask for. But how are we going to raise our little girl when you have to be in Asgard most of the time?"

"Tell you what, you take care of her during the day, and I'll take the night-shift," Loki suggested. "That way, she gets the both of us. "


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Skipping 8 Years Because I Can't Write that Crap

For about 8 years, Majesty lived a peaceful and relatively uneventful life, going to a mortal school, making friends with the mortal children and astounding them with her ability to summon candy, cake, soda, and ice cream at will. She proved to be the best kind of friend, making sure that everyone felt included, and gave special treatment to no one.

Then, one tragic day, Twyla's car was hit as she drove Majesty home from school. Because of the angle that the other car - well, actually it was a semi-truck - hit them, the mother and the truck driver were killed... but Majesty survived. Sadly, the young demigod knew nothing of death (she'd never watched Bambi or Finding Nemo, or any of the ones where a parent died, really.), and began to panic when she couldn't get her mother to wake up. Soon, an ambulance arrived and helped Majesty get out of the wrecked car, and her father showed up within seconds, sensing his daughter's distress. "Daddy, you have to help Mommy!" the girl screamed, tears streaming down her face. "I can't get her to wake up, and her neck is bleeding really bad! Why won't she wake up, Daddy?!"

Loki looked up to the paramedics who were freeing Twyla from the wreckage. One of them checked her pulse, then met Loki's eyes, shaking his head sadly.

At that moment, the God of Lies felt a pain greater than any wound he'd ever taken on any battlefield. It was like someone had ripped his heart out, beaten it to a bloody pulp, dunked it in acid, then stuffed it back in upside-down and backwards. He turned his gaze to his little girl, saw the worry and panic in her eyes as he knelt down to deliver the sad news. "Majesty, dear, I'm... afraid Mommy won't be waking up," he said, trying to explain this to a child who knew nothing of death. "Her injuries were too much for her. She's... gone. And not even I can wake her up this time."

"What do you mean, you can't?" the girl sobbed. "And how can she be gone?! She'd right there!"

"Sweetie, I never wanted to have to teach you this lesson, especially so young," the god said, his voice trembling with terrible pain and sorrow. "But, Mommy... has died. There is a difference between being asleep, and being dead. When we sleep, our bodies still work like they're supposed to. But when we die, something happens that makes it all stop. Our hearts stop beating, we stop breathing, and our brains stop thinking and carrying out other commands that allow us to live. Our spirits leave our bodies, and depending on the choices we've made in life, they either go somewhere really good, where their is no pain and no suffering, or somewhere really bad to atone for their sins. Mommy's spirit has left her now, and has gone to the good place, where she can watch over you forever, because your mom was the most wonderful person in Midgard. She would not want you to cry, dear. She would want you to be strong, and carry on as best as you can."

Majesty threw herself into her dad's arms, sobbing hysterically in her grief, before forcing back the tears and glaring at the body of the man who's carelessness had taken her mother from her. "Is that man dead, too, Daddy?" she asked, the usual sweetness gone from her voice, replaced with an iciness the God of Lies had heard many times. In his own voice.

"Yes. This means he has escaped my judgment," Loki explained.

"No. He's escaped our judgment," Majesty corrected. "He's taken Mommy from both of up with his stupidity. He needs to pay."

Loki thought for a moment. "Indeed," he agreed. "I know someone who can punish him on the other side. Meanwhile, you'll be living with me from now on." With that Loki escorted his daughter to Asgard, to introduce her to the rest of her family.

The first one she met was Heimdall, who guarded the Bifrost. "I saw what happened in Midgard, Loki," he said, cutting straight to the chase. "I grieve for your loss."

"I don't need your grief, Heimdall," Loki said bitterly as Majesty peeked nervously out from behind him. Heimdall smiled at the child. "And this must be the Little Trickster," he said warmly, crouching down to talk with her. "And what might your name be?"

"Majesty Lokidottir Sinclair," the girl said, clearly proud of her name. She didn't bow, as most would before a god, but Majesty didn't really care about etiquette. in her mind, you either excepted that she held herself in highest esteem, or she ignored your very existence. "Please to meet you, Uncle Heimdall!"

"Majesty is going to stay with me, as she has no family left in Midgard," Loki explained. "Come, now, child. It's time for you to meet your grandfather, Odin."


End file.
